International Guy_Paris, New York, Copenhagen Read online

  Bo follows, then holds his hand out to Sophie, helping her out of the car.

  Our client.

  I’m going to keep reminding myself of this fact until it’s beaten into my head. With previous clients, I didn’t have the desire to sink balls deep until they scream out my name with their scintillating French accent. Something about sweet Sophie, though, is working my libido, and I desperately need to get a handle on it.

  Bo leads our girl into the store. You wouldn’t know it from the simple jeans, fitted T-shirt, and ever-present leather jacket, but clothing is Bo’s domain. He likes to joke that it’s from taking endless clothing off women that made him so good at knowing what to put on them. Whatever it is, he’s got the skills to take a dandelion and make her a rose by finding the right threads.

  “We’ll start with dresses, skirts, and pants for the workplace.” He leads Sophie to a chair and has her take a seat before chatting with the sales associate.

  Sophie twiddles her thumbs and bites her lip.

  I sit next to her and take one of her hands between both of mine. Her breath hitches, but she relaxes back into the chair, some of her nervousness dissipating visibly at my touch. I like that response more than I want to let on, but I lock it away as something to mull over later. For now, I’m going to be whatever she needs to get comfortable as we turn her world upside down.

  “Do you trust me, Sophie?”

  “I barely know you.” Smart girl.

  I squeeze her hand. “And yet, you’re sitting in a clothing store, gripping my hand like a life preserver and not fleeing.”

  She licks her lips, looks down at her shoes and then back at me.

  “Use your intuition. You hired me. We’re here. Everything is going to change . . . for the better. This time in your life is for you, ma chérie. It’s your time to shine. Show the world you’re nothing but golden.”

  Sophie inhales and exhales slowly before nodding. “I trust you, Parker.”

  I grin and pat her hand. “That’s good, Sophie. Real good. I’m going to teach you a lot about yourself, unearth things you never even dreamed were a part of you.”

  “And how are you going to do all of this?” Her voice shakes when she speaks. It makes me want to wrap my arms around her, hold her close, and ensure her happiness—mind, body, and spirit.

  I turn sideways in the chair and grab a lock of her hair between my first and middle fingers, pushing it behind her ear so I can cup her face unhindered. “One layer at a time. Starting with the ball-busting businesswoman and ending with the sex-on-stilts savvy woman.”

  She laughs, lifting her hand up to her mouth.

  I stop her hand before she can. “Don’t ever hide your smile. Mark my words, once I’m done with you, men everywhere will drop at your feet just to be the one to put that smile on your beautiful face.”

  Sophie’s cheeks pinken, and she glances away shyly. God, I love a shy woman. Just ups the stakes, making the challenge of bringing out her other sides more fun.

  Bo and the sales attendant come back.

  “A room is ready.” Bo hooks a finger over his shoulder toward the back of the store.

  “Lead the way.” I extend my arm and take Sophie’s hand. It’s warm and comforting in my palm.

  As we walk to the changing area, she leans against my side. “I’m kind of excited to see what he’s picked out.”

  I grin. “Me too.”

  Bo takes Sophie’s other hand and pulls her into a room. I scan the area while he gets her set up with her first few outfits to try, telling her what to pair with what. I shake my head and venture back out to the racks where the ready-to-wear business attire is. Above a rack of suits is an image of an angel. A sexy-as-fuck angel. Blonde. Curves for days. Sex in a suit. My dick flickers to life once more at the ad campaign showing Skyler Paige, my all-time celebrity crush, dressed in a perfect Christian Dior suit.

  I can’t help but stare at the blonde waves of hair tumbling down around her shoulders, a stark contrast to the midnight-black jacket. Her legs go on for days in a fitted pair of slacks, tapering in toward dainty ankles I’d like to nip and kiss. If I had a woman like Skyler under me, I’d tease her for days, make her moan in a variety of ways before I’d give her what she wanted, what only I could give her.

  Fuck.

  I shake off the lingering lustful thoughts of my dream girl and get back to the matter at hand. I can think of Skyler another time, when I’m in need of a little one-handed fantasy. I’ll think back to this image and use it to play sexy secretary to my alpha boss. Bend her over my desk and give her a raise.

  Chuckling about my stupidity, I find a pair of cigarette-style black dress slacks and a matching blazer. The jacket has a wide black satin collar and a single button. The style will look magnificent on Sophie.

  Turning around, I find the sales associate Bo was working with. “Can I have these two items in whatever size my friend chose for her?”

  “Yes, of course.” She finds the appropriate sizes, and I follow her back to the dressing room as Sophie exits in a black leather pencil skirt and a white silk blouse. Paired with the red heels, she looks like a bad girl ready to kick some ass and take names.

  I clap at the outfit. “Definitely.”

  Bo surrounds Sophie, hand to his furry goatee. “We could take in the seam about half an inch here.” He runs his hands down her hips. “Show off your pert little ass more,” he says, and Sophie’s earlier blush turns to a ripe cherry-tomato hue.

  I scowl. “She looks fucking perfect as is.” My voice sounds raw, like I just woke up, even though that was hours ago.

  Bo backs off and lets a puff of air out of his mouth, assessing me before getting close and lowering his voice. “I’m sure you think so. You haven’t taken your eyes off her ass and legs since we met her. You calling dibs?”

  Am I?

  Instead of responding, I bristle, my skin feeling clammy and uncomfortable. “Just do your job and keep your hands off,” I grumble low between my teeth.

  He backs away, hands up in surrender. He turns on one heel, going back to our client. “The outfit’s good. You feelin’ it, babe?”

  She runs her hands down her own hips, and my dick stirs. “It’s different, but I like it.” She moves her hips from side to side, shimmying, getting the feel of the new threads.

  “Let’s get you in a dress,” Bo suggests.

  “No.” The one word leaves my lips, brooking no argument. I clear my throat. “The power suit.”

  Bo purses his lips and then points to the changing room. “You’re the boss. Sophie, go on ahead.”

  She steps off the platform and goes into the room. The second the door closes, Bo is all up in my grill. “You’re losing perspective, brother.” He points at my chest.

  I slap his finger and arm away. “Not possible. I’m all in.”

  He snorts. “Yeah, as in you want to get all in Ms. Frenchy.”

  I scowl. “Fuck off.”

  “Just calling it as I see it,” he says flippantly.

  “You’re wrong.” I straighten my shoulders and make sure my suit jacket is firmly closed, hiding any potential view of my hardening cock. Seeing her ass cupped in black leather, bare legs for days paired with the red heels, instantly gave me a semi.

  “Not likely. But we’ll play your game.” He clucks his tongue. “Your funeral, man . . . getting between a client’s legs.”

  “Like you haven’t,” I grit under my breath, basically outing my desire to have her in those three words.

  He crosses his big arms over one another. “Exactly. I have, many times. Shit idea. Every single time I think with my dick.”

  “As opposed to any other time.”

  Bo shakes his head and heads back toward Sophie’s room, spouting over his shoulder, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  3

  Loaded to the gills with Dior, Gucci, Prada, and Valentino, we still have a couple of more stops to make. Sophie yawns, leaning heavily against my side in the
back of the limo.

  “You tired, ma chérie? Would you like to start fresh in the morning?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but a glass of the sparkling wine would do wonders.” She gestures to the minibar.

  I grin and clap my hands together. “My specialty.” A bottle of real French Champagne is being chilled in the small hideaway fridge. I pull it out and inspect the label as if I can read French. I can understand a lot of it, but definitely not read it.

  Sophie giggles, playfully kicking up the heel of the leg she has crossed over the other. I want so badly to grab that leg and run my teeth along the creamy length, biting into what I can sense would be a spectacular pair of toned thighs. I’ve seen enough of them already since Bo made her change into one of the tighter-fitting work-appropriate sheaths he found at Gucci. If this dress is what he deems work appropriate, I’m fucked when I see her in one of the twenty cocktail dresses he fitted her for.

  I shiver and shake off my wandering thoughts. There be dragons down that path. I pop the cork and pour the three of us glasses of the bubbly.

  Sophie hums low in her throat at the first sip.

  “Fuck!” I hiss, and cross my legs, trying to stave off the desire weaving through my chest, cutting a path directly to my cock.

  This day has been sheer torture. I need a hot shower and some quality time with Righty, or maybe I’ll hit a local bar and find a willing participant to warm my hotel bed for the night. There’s got to be a good place to pick up women around here. Bo will know. I’ll ask him later, on the sly. With that man’s rotation of what he calls chicklets, he’s likely already researched the best place to pick up the ladies. Of course, I could just summon up the image of smokin’ hot Skyler Paige in her sexy secretary suit. Worst. Plan. Ever. Thinking about Skyler for even a fraction of a second. My dick has radar on those types of thoughts, and after Sophie’s legs and my celebrity crush zipping through my mind . . . I’m screwed. I grab some ice from the console and run a cube along the back of my neck to literally freeze away the lustful sensations taking over.

  Sophie finishes her glass just as the driver stops in front of the flagship Galeries Lafayette on Boulevard Haussmann. According to Google, it’s one of the biggest department stores in Paris.

  This time, the driver opens the door. Bo and I pound back our Champagne, and he finishes off with a seismic level-ten burp on the burp-o-meter.

  He pounds his chest. “Damn. Had to be done.”

  The stench wafts over, and I scramble out of the car. “You might want to air out the back,” I whisper to François, and glare at my friend.

  “What?” He holds his hands out innocently.

  I shake my head and grab Sophie’s hand.

  “Be prepared,” Sophie mutters.

  I cringe. “Why?”

  “This store is a lot to take in. You could get lost in here.”

  Bo holds open the door for both of us, and I can instantly see why she gave the warning. It’s as if we’ve walked into a different world. One of opulence and supreme love of all things gold. I stop in the center and look up. I can’t not. The entire ceiling is a dome made of colored glass. An open balcony showcasing the variety of floors and wares available for locals and tourists defines each level. Bo moves on ahead as I stare in awe.

  “Wow,” I say, and hold on to Sophie’s arm to balance myself. It’s the same feeling I get when I enter a Catholic church. It’s magnificent and completely overdone. The art nouveau style pays an enormous amount of attention to detail. I can’t remember the last time I was in the presence of something so impressive. Awe ribbons through my body, as though I’m seeing something I know for certain I’m never, ever going to forget, nor would I want to. It’s incredible. Unlike anything I’ve seen before.

  “Magnifique, n’est-ce pas?” Sophie remarks in French, and I can’t help my carnal reaction.

  It’s instant. Insane. And direct.

  Fire burns a path through my body. Excitement, lust, and desire roar in my ears as I cup both of her cheeks, capturing her by surprise while she’s looking up at the beautiful dome-shaped glass ceiling above. The moment my palms reach her cheeks, I move in. No thought, just action.

  Leaving the consequences at the door, I press my mouth to hers and kiss her.

  I kiss away her surprise.

  I kiss away her thoughts.

  I kiss away my resolve.

  I just kiss her. For a long time. So long that her body is reacting to mine, her arms curving around my back, fingers digging into my shoulder blades through my suit. I don’t care. Nothing matters but sharing this moment with the beautiful woman at my side. Her mouth opens, and I dip my tongue in, just teasing hers with mine. She tastes of dry Champagne and smells divine. Her sugar-and-spice scent curls around my head, forcing me to take more, delve deeper. Sophie gasps and clings to me as I kiss her, her body a heavy weight against my chest as if she’s given all of herself to this single kiss.

  Regretfully I pull away, nibbling a little bit at her succulent bottom lip and setting her firmly on her feet. Her eyes are still closed, her mouth just barely open. With just my fingers, I caress the side of her face.

  “Come back to me, ma chérie.” I chuckle, and finally she opens her eyes and blinks as though I’ve just awakened her from a lovely dream.

  “Kiss drunk.” I curl my hand around her chin and pet her swollen bottom lip with my thumb. “You gonna be okay?”

  She nods dumbly.

  I can’t help but laugh again. “Sorry about that. Got lost in the moment. A spectacular sight like this needed a kiss tied to it. You always remember a first kiss. Don’t you agree?”

  Sophie blushes. “Oui. Merci. It was a very good memory indeed.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” I hook my arm around her shoulders. “Pretty sure Bo moved on to the jeans section.” I gesture my other arm forward.

  She frowns. “I don’t wear a lot of jeans.”

  “SoSo, there are five things I know about how to make a woman feel sexy. You have to trust me.”

  “SoSo?” She questions the nickname I’ve just given her. I didn’t plan on it, but I feel connected to this woman. Comfortable around her. Obviously comfortable enough to give her a personal nickname and kiss her in the middle of a department store. Not my usual MO to be sure.

  I decide to berate myself later for the kiss, but not for the nickname. She is definitely a SoSo.

  “Keep up,” I chastise, ignoring her question. “Five things I know about women that are guaranteed to make you feel sexy.”

  “Okay, Mr. Ellis, enlighten me. I am your willing student.”

  Willing being the operative word, but I choke that one back in order to get to business.

  “Today, you already experienced number one and number two.”

  “The shoes?”

  I snap my fingers. “Bingo. A pair of smokin’ hot stilettos. Tell me you don’t feel sexier wearing those shoes. And don’t lie; you’ve been staring at them nonstop all day.”

  “As have you.” She cocks one eyebrow.

  I bite down on my bottom lip, wanting to kiss her again. The coy little vixen.

  “Not even going to lie. You look hot, but what I want to know is, do you feel hot in them?”

  She purses her lips and continues to walk, leading the two of us up an escalator to the second level. “Oui.”

  “Okay, and the second foolproof item for making a woman feel sexy is either an LBD or a black power suit.”

  Sophie frowns. “LBD?”

  Forgot about the language barrier. “Little black dress.”

  She nods.

  “In your case, a little black power suit. Something to give you confidence, hide any insecurities you might have standing in the boardroom and/or going up against your father’s investors. Well, now your investors.”

  “I did like the suit.”

  For €4,000, who wouldn’t? Of course, I don’t say that, because money is not something she lacks, nor should she
feel shitty about what her family has worked hard to achieve. Still, four g’s is a lot of cash to blow on one suit. Necessary in the world she was born into, but still hard to swallow. In the past, we’ve worked with some rich clients, but none of the caliber or pedigree of Sophie Rolland. This job is a major coup for International Guy Inc., and hopefully, the first step to the next level. If I don’t fuck it up, say, by kissing our client in the center of a department store in the heart of Paris.

  Because I like being connected to her physically, I take her hand. I spy the jeans section, and Bo is already pulling down several pairs. He’s absolutely in the zone. I can only hope he’d moved on far enough to miss the kiss earlier.

  “Hey guys, got these pairs for you to try on, Sophie. Different styles for different events and shoes. You’ve got your boot cut, skinny leg, wide leg, and slim fit.”

  He hands the lot to Sophie and points to the dressing room.

  “Thanks, Bo. You’re really quite good at this.”

  “I should be. My mother’s been a fashion designer all my life. I knew how to sew a button on a pair of cargoes before I knew how to hit a baseball.” Bo shrugs. “Only boy of a single parent, with three girlie-ass sisters and a fashionista for a mother. What can I say. It stuck with me.” He winks and gestures for her to get going.

  The moment she’s out of earshot, I swear I’m back in the junior high school locker room, talking with my buds about getting to first base with an on-again, off-again girlfriend.

  “Lip-locking in department stores?” Bo raises both of his eyebrows and grins cockily. “Classy.”

  I frown and brace my hands on my waist, knowing he speaks the truth. It was not my best moment. Instead of disagreeing with him or shooting something offensive back in my defense—because I really don’t have anything—I settle on, “Shut up.”

  He laughs, comes over to me, and claps me on the shoulder in support. “Bro, if you want to hit that, hit it. Just make sure you don’t fuck it up for the rest of us, businesswise. You’re slick, dude; just make it work. Cool?”

  I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, suddenly feeling bone-tired. We spent seven hours flying from Boston to Paris on a red-eye, dropped off our bags, freshened up, and left first thing to meet our client. I think a bit of jet lag is taking its toll.